Under His Hand » 2007 » October

Is it a curse or a blessing?

We were having sex last night (again). I was under the desk (again).

And it just was. not. working.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there. I did. I had my vibrator in hand and was all gung-ho horny and wanting to get it on. I’m okay with being under there now, so it wasn’t that at all.

But whatever cosmic energies that we’d pissed off yesterday were conspiring against us and it simply wasn’t going right. Positions were off and angles weren’t right and tempers started to flare. Well, HIS did anyway. I held mine in check. Sort of.

He started with His usual gentle tap on my hip, one thats supposed to alert me that I’m beginning to slide out of position. Except, I wasn’t. I swear to GOD, I was not moving. And if I don’t think I’m moving I don’t exactly know how to correct myself, you know?

So I ignored Him. (probably not the most brilliant move on my part.)

Those “gentle taps” soon progressed to harder jabs and exasperated sighs and Him snatching my leg and repositioning it here, then moving it there, and all the while I said nothing, did nothing, merely tried to hold myself in whatever new position He arranged me in, and each time His cock would slip out, He’d start all over again with the jabbing and the sighing and the repositioning until, finally, He barks at me “You’re pulling away from me, cunt!” and I protest, still quietly and demurely, that I’m not, I promise I’m not moving, Master, honest injun, I’m not.

So He thrusts into me rather hard, which of course sends me forward a tiny tad and He “ah-ha’s!” and points that out as proof that I am so moving and that I better just knock it off.

~le sigh~ Yes Master. Of course.

I’m still holding my temper, really only mildly frustrated, because I was still vibing and still concentrating on getting myself off and not really incredibly concerned that He was having trouble finding His rhythm. It’s not like He was mad at me, as that would have changed things… He was just irritated that things weren’t lining up right.

Eventually I pipe up from my tiny muffled space and meekly offer that perhaps the problem is that I wasn’t under there deep enough. I pointed out that I couldn’t reach the wall behind the desk, which is generally how I brace myself, with one palm pressed hard against the wall and without that support I was maybe, perhaps, flopping around more than usual.

He scoots me in farther. TOO far, of course. But my moment of offering suggestions was over by then. So instead of not being able to reach the wall, I’m pressed so far into it that I can’t even lift my head without banging it into the back of the desk. A panel of wood that ends at the most inconvenient height, just enough room to smoosh my head between it and the floor. Oh yippee.

At this point I’m beginning to feel the first pangs of irritation myself. I mean, for fuck’s sake here, I’m *trying* to have an orgasm and this new position has made reaching my cunt a tad difficult.

I started shifting, slowly, stealthily (or so I thought), trying to maneuver some room between my body and the floor so I can get my hand tucked back against my clit, when all of a sudden, He slams into me, honestly trying to nail me to the floor with His dick I think, and sends my now unbalanced body (because my hand was tucked underneath me by then) flying forward where the back of my neck, still cruelly bent and stuck between the floor and the back of the desk, bangs up hard on the edge of the fucking wood panel.

So much for holding my temper. I cursed, something along the lines of “jesus fucking christ!”, threw the vibrator away from me and smacked both palms against the wall… and pouted.

He did apologize for making me hit my head (didn’t know it had been my neck, which is now bruised and sore!), but He didn’t stop fucking me. And what do you know? With both hands bracing me I stopped moving around. Positions lined up and the cosmic energies cooperated and pretty soon He was happily in rhythm and all was right with the world. HIS world anyway.

I was still pouting. I mean what the hell. Is it so much to ask to get a *little* cooperation so that I can have an orgasm too? Jebus! I was really offended, too. And just… mad. He picks up on that, maybe the steam coming out of my ears was a dead giveaway, but He likes that shit you know? He taunts me with it.

“Are you mad now, cunt?” He says, in that somewhat challenging I-dare-you-to-blow-up, sing-songy voice that is like fingernails down a chalkboard.

Yes! Yes, you selfish mean old Bastard!

But I keep my voice even. Even and controlled, while gritting my teeth.

“No.”

“No…. what?” again with the taunting.

No FUCKER.

“No Sir.” man, I was boring some damn holes in the wall, lemme tell ya.

“Good thing.” He says, bucking up into me.

Oh.. grr.

And that’s how the conversation went for quite some time. He made little quips about how good it felt and I’d think mean things about Him.

“God damn you feel good, cunt.”

At least one of us thinks so. Fucker.

“I love fucking you like this.”

Wish I could say the same! Fucker.

“It feels too good to let it end.”

Not from my side! Any time now! Fucker.

Until finally the absurdity of it all was just too funny. Every time He’d make some groan of pleasure I’d mentally tell Him off. It was freakin’ hilarious and I started giggling to myself down there.

He treats me like a fucktoy sometimes… with no real concern over my comfort or pleasure, which figures right into how you’d treat a blow up doll. I mean, does any owner of a blow up doll ever worry about what the doll wants or what the doll thinks? Of course not! That’s stupid. I beg and plead to be treated like an object, to be treated like a nothing, nobody, fuckdoll whore… and then get all pissy when He does.

Which is funny. To me. It’s funny that I’m tucked up into this cramped space getting my brains fucked out (literally!) and I’m pouting because I can’t reach my vibrator. And what’s even more funny is that He’s completely oblivious to it all. He’s just doing His thing, feeling good, riding the edge of orgasm, while I’m mentally givng Him what for.

Because I’m an object, there for His pleasure. He’s not there for mine! Why the hell do I forget that on a consistent basis?? It’s crazy.

But at least I see the humor in my craziness. Good thing He does too.

I did finally come too, right with Him. Because once I get off my high “what about ME?” horse and relish in being His objectified fuckdoll whore, it makes me come.

Oh yes, I AM a masochist. I knew I was! It seems I forget that part once I get a vibrator in my hand.

And then He caned me. For “being good”. I failed to see His logic on the reward system there. After sex, after all hope of coming is finished?? That’s not a damn reward! Cripes, it hurt!

I slept good though. Today is fanfuckingtastic day so far. Damn Him for knowing what I need all the freaking time!

Masochism. Curse or blessing? Fuck if I know.

~cunt

ps. Master’s starting a new thing. A daily picture of some sort.

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